


The Evolution of Radiance

by WrathoftheStag (Mwuahna)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, M/M, Thanks to Dolarhyde, Will Chooses Hannibal, Will Loves Hannibal, making choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mwuahna/pseuds/WrathoftheStag
Summary: When did Will decide to free Hannibal from prison?  He wasn't sure himself, until Francis Dolarhyde helped him make the decision.





	The Evolution of Radiance

Chiyoh adjusted the blinds in the safe house as the brightness still bothered Hannibal’s eyes. He grunted softly in protest as she loomed over Hannibal’s bed, and wiped at his forehead with a cool, wet towel. 

Lying in the other bed in the room, Will Graham craned his neck to peer at Hannibal’s figure. Bandaged and bruised, how small Hannibal appeared. How fragile, as he hardly stirred, recovering from the wounds both Dolarhyde and Will had inflicted on him.

The sound of the rain outside beat against the windows that surrounded the tiny house. It both soothed and agitated Will. But he was accustomed to his constant contradictory state, as he had lived most of his life that way. Struggling, fighting against himself. Until now. Now he finally accepted who he was. He stared at Hannibal, as Chiyoh, in turn, studied him with caution.

“If you leave this bed -- if you approach Hannibal -- I will break your legs.”

Will remained silent and gave her a curt nod. 

“I will not hesitate,” she said as she walked to the door and slowly closed it partially behind her.

Will listened to Hannibal’s shallow, slow breaths. They became a metronome that kept him in time with his memories. Memories that haunted him, memories he’d rather forget -- save for a few…

**+**

The thought never occurred to him. Not really. Even as he sat in the quiet solace (as false as it was) of the cabin he shared with Molly, and re-read Hannibal’s letter for the fiftieth time did it ever enter his mind. He never considered helping Hannibal escape. 

Will Graham watched the letter burn after he threw it into the fireplace, and with it any remaining deeply hidden thoughts or emotions he had felt about the man. At least that’s what he told himself. 

And so, Will clutched his person suit tightly about himself, swallowed thickly, and continued along his days, his nights, in this old new life with Molly. He continued and didn’t think about Hannibal Lecter. 

When Molly said he should go with Jack, he should help and make a difference, she had no idea how much would change. Even as Will assured her he would be different, she still had no clue. How could she? 

How could she see that the man she married was a fiction– a version of Will Graham he’d made up to fit into Molly’s life, Molly’s expectations. Oh, how he so wanted to fit. The Will Graham he’d made up caught fish for his wife to fry and laughed as it stunk up the entire cabin; the Will Graham he invented wore hand-knitted sweaters with dropped stitches; the Will Graham he gave birth to taught Walter how to solve algebraic equations; he would sit with his wife’s feet in his lap as he worked on the New York Times crossword puzzle.

How he wanted to be that Will Graham, instead of this one, who at the moment struggled with the Tooth Fairy, in a cheap motel room, for breath and dominance; the Will Graham who wasn’t sure yet if he’d help Hannibal escape.

Just before his mind went blank, as Francis Dolarhyde smothered his face with a chloroformed washcloth, Will’s thoughts reached out like tendrils -- like desperate hands searching for one final life preserver -- and what he found was one quick memory. A snippet of a conversation between he and Hannibal. Grasping and remembering...

_“Tell me, did your heart race when you murdered her?”_

_“No, it didn't.”_

_“A low heart rate is a true indicator of one's capacity for violence. Your design is evolving.”_

And as his eyes began to close, in this losing battle, he noticed that his heartbeat remained steady and low as he fell deep into the unknown.

The road that led him to that moment seemed to have been coming almost his entire life. How different would he had been had his mother stuck around? If his father had been more reliable? If he hadn’t been cursed with his so-called gift. (Was it a gift really, if you could tell that your second grade teacher pitied and feared you? You stared just a little too much, a little too hard for her taste.)

Seeing Hannibal again after all those years was a bit of a shock – but not because he was afraid – well, in truth he was – but because he knew Hannibal understood him still. Even with the distance and the time.

“Are we no longer on a first name basis?” 

_No, I would like that very much. Once more. Just once, forever._

“I'm more comfortable the less personal we are.”

It was a lie, however. Will already began to feel whole again, real – and god knows he hated himself for it. Molly and Walter deserved better.

This dullness he felt, had felt for the last three years, was eating away at him like rust on fine steel, like maggots on old meat. The mere sound of Hannibal’s voice began to pull Will out of the dullness. Good god, the soul crushing dullness.

He woke with a startle as Francis doused him with water; a quick baptism.

“Breathe deeply. Do you think you can sit up? Try to sit up.”

Will obliged, grateful he could still move. He sat patiently and listened as Francis explained himself, his grand mission. Will nodded, heartbeat steady and low.

“You think you understand, don't you?” Francis asked.

“I understand that blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance. Hannibal said those words to me.”

(First name basis, once again.)

“I want to meet Lecter. How do I manage that?”

And it was then, right then when Will Graham decided. If anyone was going to meet Hannibal, it would be him. Only him. His plan to free Hannibal was born, easily and without doubt. 

His final change, his true radiance -- a leap from the lackluster, from the maddening politeness -- would finally be welcome. Will would accept this as his fate. 

He’d always known, anyhow. 

**+**

The rain had slowed to a drizzle as it caressed the windows of the safe house, and Will could see that Hannibal had fallen into a deeper sleep. Will sighed contentedly knowing that fate had smiled upon him once again. How very fortunate they had been to have survived. Together. And whether it was at the gates of Hell or the halls of Valhalla, it would be Will and Hannibal together. Eternally.

Will Graham accepted that his design had evolved yet again, and his radiance? 

Well… it was blinding.


End file.
